"I beg your pardon, prince," said the young diplomatist, "I have mether. She exists."

"My dear friend," answered Montevarchi, "I do not doubt the existence ofthe woman, as such, and I would certainly not think of disagreeing withyou, even if I had the slightest ground for doing so, which, I hasten tosay, I have not. Nor, of course, if she is a friend of yours, would Ilike to say more on the subject. But I have taken some little interestin genealogy and I have a modest library--about two thousand volumes,only--consisting solely of works on the subject, all of which I haveread and many of which I have carefully annotated. I need not say thatthey are all at your disposal if you should desire to make anyresearches."

Montevarchi had much of his murdered father's manner, without the oldman's strength. The young secretary of embassy was rather startled atthe idea of searching through two thousand volumes in pursuit of Madamed'Aranjuez's identity. Sant' Ilario laughed.

"I only mean that I have met the lady," said the young man. "Of courseyou are right. I have no idea who she may really be. I have heard oddstories about her."

"Oh--have you?" asked Sant' Ilario with renewed interest.

"Yes, very odd." He paused and looked round the room to assure himselfthat no one else was present. "There are two distinct stories about her.The first is this. They say that she is a South American prima donna,who sang only a few months, at Rio de Janeiro and then at Buenos Ayres.An Italian who had gone out there and made a fortune married her fromthe stage. In coming to Europe, he unfortunately fell overboard and sheinherited all his money. People say that she was the only person whowitnessed the accident. The man's name was Aragno. She twisted it onceand made Aranjuez of it, and she turned it again and discovered that itspelled Aragona. That is the first story. It sounds well at all events."

"Very," said Sant' Ilario, with a laugh.

"A profoundly interesting page in genealogy, if she happens to marrysomebody," observed Montevarchi, mentally noting all the facts.

"What is the other story?" asked Frangipani.

"The other story is much less concise and detailed. According to thisversion, she is the daughter of a certain royal personage and of aPolish countess. There is always a Polish countess in those stories! Shewas never married. The royal personage has had her educated in a conventand has sent her out into the wide world with a pretty fancy name of hisown invention, plentifully supplied with money and regular documentsreferring to her union with the imaginary Aranjuez, and protected by asort of body-guard of mutes and duennas who never appear in public. Sheis of course to make a great match for herself, and has come to Rome todo it. That is also a pretty tale."

"More interesting than the other," said Montevarchi. "These side lightsof genealogy, these stray rivulets of royal races, if I may sopoetically call them, possess an absorbing interest for the student. Iwill make a note of it."

"Of course, I do not vouch for the truth of a single word in eitherstory," observed the young man. "Of the two the first is the lessimprobable. I have met her and talked to her and she is certainly notless than five and twenty years old. She may be more. In any case she istoo old to have been just let out of a convent."

"Perhaps she has been loose for some years," observed Sant' Ilario,speaking of her as though she were a dangerous wild animal.

"We should have heard of her," objected the other. "She has the sort ofpersonality which is noticed anywhere and which makes itself felt."

"Then you incline to the belief that she dropped the Signor Aragnoquietly overboard in the neighbourhood of the equator?"

"The real story may be quite different from either of those I have toldyou."

"And she is a friend of poor old Donna Tullia!" exclaimed Montevarchiregretfully. "I am sorry for that. For the sake of her history I couldalmost have gone to the length of making her acquaintance."

"How the Del Ferice would rave if she could hear you call her poor oldDonna Tullia," observed Frangipani. "I remember how she danced at theball when I came of age!"

"That was a long time ago, Filippo," said Montevarchi thoughtfully, "avery long time ago. We were all young once, Filippo--but Donna Tullia isreally only fit to fill a glass case in a museum of natural historynow."

The remark was not original, and had been in circulation some time. Butthe three men laughed a little and Montevarchi was much pleased by theirappreciation. He and Frangipani began to talk together, and Sant' Ilariotook up his paper again. When the young diplomatist laid his own asideand went out, Giovanni followed him, and they left the club together.

"Have you any reason to believe that there is anything irregular aboutthis Madame d'Aranjuez?" asked Sant' Ilario.

"No. Stories of that kind are generally inventions. She has not beenpresented at Court--but that means nothing here. And there is a doubtabout her nationality--but no one has asked her directly about it."

"May I ask who told you the stories?"

The young man's face immediately lost all expression.

"Really--I have quite forgotten," he said. "People have been talkingabout her."

Sant' Ilario justly concluded that his companion's informant was a lady,and probably one in whom the diplomatist was interested. Discretion isso rare that it can easily be traced to its causes. Giovanni left theyoung man and walked away in the opposite direction, inwardly meditatinga piece of diplomacy quite foreign to his nature. He said to himselfthat he would watch the man in the world and that it would be easy toguess who the lady in question was. It would have been clear to any onebut himself that he was not likely to learn anything worth knowing, byhis present mode of procedure.

"Gouache," he said, entering the artist's studio a quarter of an hourlater, "do you know anything about Madame d'Aranjuez?"

"That is all I know," Gouache answered, pointing to Maria Consuelo'sportrait which stood finished upon an easel before him, set in an oldframe. He had been touching it when Giovanni entered. "That is all Iknow, and I do not know that thoroughly. I wish I did. She is awonderful subject."

Sant' Ilario gazed at the picture in silence.

"Are her eyes really like these?" he asked at length.

"Much finer."

"And her mouth?"

"Much larger," answered Gouache with a smile.

"She is bad," said Giovanni with conviction, and he thought of theSignor Aragno.

"Women are never bad," observed Gouache with a thoughtful air. "Some areless angelic than others. You need only tell them all so to assureyourself of the fact."

"I daresay. What is this person? French, Spanish--South American?"

"I have not the least idea. She is not French, at all events."

"Excuse me--does your wife know her?"

Gouache glanced quickly at his visitor's face.

"No."

Gouache was a singularly kind man, and he did his best perhaps forreasons of his own, to convey nothing by the monosyllable beyond thesimple negation of a fact. But the effort was not altogether successful.There was an almost imperceptible shade of surprise in the tone whichdid not escape Giovanni. On the other hand it was perfectly clear toGouache that Sant' Ilario's interest in the matter was connected withOrsino.

"I cannot find any one who knows anything definite," said Giovanni aftera pause.

"Have you tried Spicca?" asked the artist, examining his workcritically.

"No. Why Spicca?"

"He always knows everything," answered Gouache vaguely. "By the way,Saracinesca, do you not think there might be a little more light justover the left eye?"

"How should I know?"

"You ought to know. What is the use of having been brought up under thevery noses of original portraits, all painted by the best masters anddoubtless ordered by your ancestors at a very considerable expense--ifyou do not know?"

Giovanni laughed.

"My dear old friend," he said good-humouredly, "have you known us nearlyfive and twenty years without discovering that it is our peculiarprivilege to be ignorant without reproach?"

Gouache laughed in his turn.

"You do not often make sharp remarks--but when you do!"

Giovanni left the studio very soon, and went in search of Spicca. It wasno easy matter to find the peripatetic cynic on a winter's afternoon,but Gouache's remark had seemed to mean something, and Sant' Ilario sawa faint glimmer of hope in the distance. He knew Spicca's habits verywell, and was aware that when the sun was low he would certainly turninto one of the many houses where he was intimate, and spend an hourover a cup of tea. The difficulty lay in ascertaining which particularfireside he would select on that afternoon. Giovanni hastily sketched aroute for himself and asked the porter at each of his friends' houses ifSpicca had entered. Fortune favoured him at last. Spicca was drinkinghis tea with the Marchesa di San Giacinto.

Giovanni paused a moment before the gateway of the palace in which SanGiacinto had inhabited a large hired apartment for many years. He didnot see much of his cousin, now, on account of differences in politicalopinion, and he had no reason whatever for calling on Flavia, especiallyas formal New Year's visits had lately been exchanged. However, as SanGiacinto was now a leading authority on questions of landed property inthe city, it struck him that he could pretend a desire to see Flavia'shusband, and make that an excuse for staying a long time, if necessary,in order to wait for him.

He found Flavia and Spicca alone together, with a small tea-tablebetween them. The air was heavy with the smoke of cigarettes, whichclung to the oriental curtains and hung in clouds about the rare palmsand plants. Everything in the San Giacinto house was large, comfortableand unostentatious. There was not a chair to be seen which might nothave held the giant's frame. San Giacinto was a wonderful judge of whatwas good. If he paid twice as much as Montevarchi for a horse, the horseturned out to be capable of four times the work. If he bought a pictureat a sale, it was discovered to be by some good master and other peoplewondered why they had lost courage in the bidding for a trifle of ahundred francs. Nothing ever turned out badly with him, but no successhad the power to shake his solid prudence. No one knew how rich he was,but those who had watched him understood that he would never let theworld guess at half his fortune. He was a giant in all ways and he hadshown what he could do when he had dominated Flavia during the firstyear of their marriage. She had at first been proud of him, but aboutthe time when she would have wearied of another man, she discovered thatshe feared him in a way she certainly did not fear the devil. Yet liehad never spoken a harsh, word to her in his life. But there wassomething positively appalling to her in his enormous strength, rarelyexhibited and never without good reason, but always quietly present, asthe outline of a vast mountain reflected in a placid lake. Then shediscovered to her great surprise that he really loved her, which she hadnot expected, and at the end of three years he became aware that sheloved him, which was still more astonishing. As usual, his investmenthad turned out well.

At the time of which I am speaking Flavia was a slight, graceful womanof forty years or thereabouts, retaining much of the brilliantprettiness which served her for beauty, and conspicuous always for herextremely bright eyes. She was of the type of women who live to a greatage.

She had not expected to see Sant' Ilario, and as she gave her hand, shelooked up at him with an air of inquiry. It would have been like him tosay that he had come to see her husband and not herself, for he had notact with persons whom he did not especially like. There are such peoplein the world.

"Will you give me a cup of tea, Flavia?" he asked, as he sat down, aftershaking hands with Spicca.

"Have you at last heard that your cousin's tea is good?" inquired thelatter, who was surprised by Giovanni's coming.

"I am afraid it is cold," said Flavia, looking into the teapot, asthough she could discover the temperature by inspection.

"It is no matter," answered Giovanni absently.

He was wondering how he could lead the conversation to the discussion ofMadame d'Aranjuez.

"You belong to the swallowers," observed Spicca, lighting a freshcigarette. "You swallow something, no matter what, and you aresatisfied."

"It is the simplest way--one is never disappointed."

"It is a pity one cannot swallow people in the same way," said Flaviawith a laugh.

"Most people do," answered Spicca viciously.

"Were you at the Jubilee on the first day?" asked Giovanni, addressingFlavia.

"Of course I was--and you spoke to me."

"That is true. By the bye, I saw that excellent Donna Tullia there. Iwonder whose ticket she had."

"She had the Princess Befana's," answered Spicca, who knew everything."The old lady happened to be dying--she always dies at the beginning ofthe season--it used to be for economy, but it has become a habit--and soDel Ferice bought her card of her servant for his wife."

"Who was the lady who sat with her?" asked Giovanni, delighted with hisown skill.

"You ought to know!" exclaimed Flavia. "We all saw Orsino take her out.That is the famous, the incomparable Madame d'Aranjuez--the mostbeautiful of Spanish princesses according to to-day's paper. I daresayyou have seen the account of the Del Ferice party. She is no moreSpanish than Alexander the Great. Is she, Spicca?"

"No, she is not Spanish," answered the latter.

"Then what in the world is she?" asked Giovanni impatiently.

"How should I know? Of course it is very disagreeable for you." It wasFlavia who spoke.

"Disagreeable? How?"

"Why, about Orsino of course. Everybody says he is devoted to her."

"I wish everybody would mind his and her business," said Giovannisharply. "Because a boy makes the acquaintance of a stranger at astudio--"

"Oh--it was at a studio? I did not know that."

"Yes, at Gouache's--I fancied your sister might have told you that,"said Giovanni, growing more and more irritable, and yet not daring tochange the subject, lest he should lose some valuable information."Because Orsino makes her acquaintance accidentally, every one must saythat he is in love with her."

Flavia laughed.

"My dear Giovanni," she answered. "Let us be frank. I used never totell the truth under any circumstances, when I was a girl, butGiovanni--my Giovanni--did not like that. Do you know what he did? Heused to cut off a hundred francs of my allowance for every fib Itold--laughing at me all the time. At the end of the first quarter Ipositively had not a pair of shoes, and all my gloves had been cleanedtwice. He used to keep all the fines in a special pocket-book--if youknew how hard I tried to steal it! But I could not. Then, of course, Ireformed. There was nothing else to be done--that or rags--fancy! And doyou know? I have grown quite used to being truthful. Besides, it is sooriginal, that I pose with it."

Flavia paused, laughed a little, and puffed at her cigarette.

"You do not often come to see me, Giovanni," she said, "and since youare here I am going to tell you the truth about your visit. You arebeside yourself with rage at Orsino's new fancy, and you want to findout all about this Madame d'Aranjuez. So you came here, because we areWhites and you saw that she had been at the Del Ferice party, and youknow that we know them--and the rest is sung by the organ, as we saywhen high mass is over. Is that the truth, or not?"

"Approximately," said Giovanni, smiling in spite of himself.

"Does Corona cut your allowance when you tell fibs?" asked Flavia. "No?Then why say that it is only approximately true?"

"I have my reasons. And you can tell me nothing?"

"Nothing. I believe Spicca knows all about her. But he will not tellwhat he knows."

Spicca made no answer to this, and Giovanni determined to outstay him,or rather, to stay until he rose to go and then go with him. It wastedious work for he was not a man who could talk against time on alloccasions. But he struggled bravely and Spicca at last got up from hisdeep chair. They went out together, and stopped as though by commonconsent upon the brilliantly lighted landing of the first floor.

"Seriously, Spicca," said Giovanni, "I am afraid Orsino is falling inlove with this pretty stranger. If you can tell me anything about her,please do so."

Spicca stared at the wall, hesitated a moment, and then looked straightinto his companion's eyes.

"Have you any reason to suppose that I, and I especially, know anythingabout this lady?" he asked.

"No--except that you know everything."

"That is a fable." Spicca turned from him and began to descend thestairs.

Giovanni followed and laid a hand upon his arm.

"You will not do me this service?" he asked earnestly.

Again Spicca stopped and looked at him.

"You and I are very old friends, Giovanni," he said slowly. "I am olderthan you, but we have stood by each other very often--in places moreslippery than these marble steps. Do not let us quarrel now, old friend.When I tell you that my omniscience exists only in the vividimaginations of people whose tea I like, believe me, and if you wish todo me a kindness--for the sake of old times--do not help to spread theidea that I know everything."

The melancholy Spicca had never been given to talking about friendshipor its mutual obligations. Indeed, Giovanni could not remember havingever heard him speak as he had just spoken. It was perfectly clear thathe knew something very definite about Maria Consuelo, and he probablyhad no intention of deceiving Giovanni in that respect. But Spicca alsoknew his man, and he knew that his appeal for Giovanni's silence wouldnot be vain.

"Very well," said Sant' Ilario.

They exchanged a few indifferent words before parting, and then Giovanniwalked slowly homeward, pondering on the things he had heard that day.

CHAPTER VIII.

While Giovanni was exerting himself to little purpose in attempting togain information concerning Maria Consuelo, she had launched herselfupon the society of which the Countess Del Ferice was an important andinfluential member. Chance, and probably chance alone, had guided her inthe matter of this acquaintance, for it could certainly not be said thatshe had forced herself upon Donna Tullia, nor even shown any uncommonreadiness to meet the latter's advances. The offer of a seat in hercarriage had seemed natural enough, under the circumstances, and DonnaTullia had been perfectly free to refuse it if she had chosen to do so.

Though possessing but the very slightest grounds for believing herselfto be a born diplomatist, the Countess had always delighted in pettyplotting and scheming. She now saw a possibility of annoying allOrsino's relations by attracting the object of Orsino's devotion to herown house. She had no especial reason for supposing that the young manwas really very much in love with Madame d'Aranjuez, but her woman'sinstinct, which far surpassed her diplomatic talents in acuteness, toldher that Orsino was certainly not indifferent to the interestingstranger. She argued, primitively enough, that to annoy Orsino must beequivalent to annoying his people, and she supposed that she could donothing more disagreeable to the young man's wishes than to induceMadame d'Aranjuez to join that part of society from which all theSaracinesca were separated by an insuperable barrier.

And Orsino indeed resented the proceeding, as she had expected; but hisfamily were at first more inclined to look upon Donna Tullia as a goodangel who had carried off the tempter at the right moment to anunapproachable distance. It was not to be believed that Orsino could doanything so monstrous as to enter Del Ferice's house or ask a place inDel Ferice's circle, and it was accordingly a relief to find that Madamed'Aranjuez had definitely chosen to do so, and had appeared inolive-green brocade at the Del Ferice's last party. The olive-greenbrocade would now assuredly not figure in the gatherings of theSaracinesca's intimate friends.

Like every one else, Orsino read the daily chronicle of Roman life inthe papers, and until he saw Maria Consuelo's name among the DelFerice's guests, he refused to believe that she had taken theirrevocable step he so much feared. He had still entertained vaguenotions of bringing about a meeting between her and his mother, and hesaw at a glance that such a meeting was now quite out of the question.This was the first severe shock his vanity had ever received and he wassurprised at the depth of his own annoyance. Maria Consuelo might indeedhave been seen once with Donna Tullia, and might have gone once to thelatter's day. That was bad enough, but might be remedied by tact anddecision in her subsequent conduct. But there was no salvation possibleafter a person had been advertised in the daily paper as Madamed'Aranjuez had been. Orsino was very angry. He had been once to see hersince his first visit, and she had said nothing about this invitation,though Donna Tullia's name had been mentioned. He was offended with herfor not telling him that she was going to the dinner, as though he hadany right to be made acquainted with her intentions. He had no soonermade the discovery than he determined to visit his anger upon her, andthrowing the paper aside went straight to the hotel where she wasstopping.

Maria Consuelo was at home and he was ushered into the littlesitting-room without delay. To his inexpressible disgust he found DelFerice himself installed upon the chair near the table, engaged inanimated conversation with Madame d'Aranjuez. The situation was awkwardin the extreme. Orsino hoped that Del Ferice would go at once, and thusavoid the necessity of an introduction. But Ugo did nothing of the kind.He rose, indeed, but did not take his hat from the table, and stoodsmiling pleasantly while Orsino shook hands with Maria Consuelo.

"Let me make you acquainted," she said with exasperating calmness, andshe named the two men to each other.

Ugo put out his hand quietly and Orsino was obliged to take it, which hedid coldly enough. Ugo had more than his share of tact, and he nevermade a disagreeable impression upon any one if he could help it. MariaConsuelo seemed to take everything for granted, and Orsino's appearancedid not disconcert her in the slightest degree. Both men sat down andlooked at her as though expecting that she would choose a subject ofconversation for them.

"We were talking of the change in Rome," she said. "Monsieur Del Fericetakes a great interest in all that is doing, and he was explaining to mesome of the difficulties with which he has to contend."

"Don Orsino knows what they are, as well as I, though we might perhapsdiffer as to the way of dealing with them," said Del Ferice.

"Yes," answered Orsino, more coldly than was necessary. "You play theactive part, and we the passive."

"In a certain sense, yes," returned the other, quite unruffled. "Youhave exactly defined the situation, and ours is by far the moredisagreeable and thankless part to play. Oh--I am not going to defendall we have done! I only defend what we mean to do. Change of any sortis execrable to the man of taste, unless it is brought about bytime--and that is a beautifier which we have not at our disposal. We arehalf Vandals and half Americans, and we are in a terrible hurry."

Maria Consuelo laughed, and Orsino's face became a shade less gloomy. Hehad expected to find Del Ferice the arrogant, self-satisfied apostle ofthe modern, which he was represented to be.

"Could you not have taken a little more time?" asked Orsino.

"I cannot see how. Besides it is our time which takes us with it. Solong as Rome was the capital of an idea there was no need of haste indoing anything. But when it became the capital of a modern kingdom, itfell a victim to modern facts--which are not beautiful. The most we canhope to do is to direct the current, clumsily enough, I daresay. Wecannot stop it. Nothing short of Oriental despotism could. We cannotprevent people from flocking to the centre, and where there is apopulation it must be housed."

"Evidently," said Madame d'Aranjuez.

"It seems to me that, without disturbing the old city, a new one mighthave been built beside it," observed Orsino.

"No doubt. And that is practically what we have done. I say 'we,'because you say 'you.' But I think you will admit that, as far aspersonal activity is concerned, the Romans of Rome are taking as activea share in building ugly houses as any of the Italian Romans. Thedestruction of the Villa Ludovisi, for instance, was forced upon theowner not by the national government but by an insane municipality, andthose who have taken over the building lots are largely Roman princes ofthe old stock."

The argument was unanswerable, and Orsino knew it, a fact which did notimprove his temper. It was disagreeable enough to be forced into aconversation with Del Ferice, and it was still worse to be obliged toagree with him. Orsino frowned and said nothing, hoping that the subjectwould drop. But Del Ferice had only produced an unpleasant impression inorder to remove it and thereby improve the whole situation, which wasone of the most difficult in which he had found himself for some time.

"I repeat," he said, with a pleasant smile, "that it is hopeless todefend all of what is actually done in our day in Rome. Some of yourfriends and many of mine are building houses which even age and ruinwill never beautify. The only defensible part of the affair is thepolitical change which has brought about the necessity of building atall, and upon that point I think that we may agree to differ. Do you notthink so, Don Orsino?"

"By all means," answered the young man, conscious that the proposal wasboth just and fitting.

"And for the rest, both your friends and mine--for all I know, your ownfamily and certainly I myself--have enormous interests at stake. We mayat least agree to hope that none of us may be ruined."

"Certainly--though we have had nothing to do with the matter. Neither myfather nor my grandfather have entered into any such speculation."

"It is a pity," said Del Ferice thoughtfully.

"Why a pity?"

"On the one hand my instincts are basely commercial," Del Fericeanswered with a frank laugh. "No matter how great a fortune may be, itmay be doubled and trebled. You must remember that I am a banker in factif not exactly in designation, and the opportunity is excellent. But thegreater pity is that such men as you, Don Orsino, who could exercise asmuch influence as it might please you to use, leave it to men--veryunlike you, I fancy--to murder the architecture of Rome and prepare thetriumph of the hideous."

Orsino did not answer the remark, although he was not altogetherdispleased with the idea it conveyed. Maria Consuelo looked at him.

"Why do you stand aloof and let things go from bad to worse when youmight really do good by joining in the affairs of the day?" she asked.

"I could not join in them, if I would," answered Orsino.

"Why not?"

"Because I have not command of a hundred francs in the world, Madame.That is the simplest and best of all reasons."

Del Ferice laughed incredulously.

"The eldest son of Casa Saracinesca would not find that a practicalobstacle," he said, taking his hat and rising to go. "Besides, what isneeded in these transactions is not so much ready money as courage,decision and judgment. There is a rich firm of contractors now doing alarge business, who began with three thousand francs as their wholecapital--what you might lose at cards in an evening without missing it,though you say that you have no money at your command."

"Is that possible?" asked Orsino with some interest.

"It is a fact. There were three men, a tobacconist, a carpenter and amason, and they each had a thousand francs of savings. They took over acontract last week for a million and a half, on which they will cleartwenty per cent. But they had the qualities--the daring and the prudencecombined. They succeeded."

"And if they had failed, what would have happened?"

"They would have lost their three thousand francs. They had nothing elseto lose, and there was nothing in the least irregular about theirtransactions. Good evening, Madame--I have a private meeting ofdirectors at my house. Good evening, Don Orsino."

He went out, leaving behind him an impression which was not by any meansdisagreeable. His appearance was against him, Orsino thought. His fatwhite face and dull eyes were not pleasant to look at. But he had showntact in a difficult situation, and there was a quiet energy about him, asettled purpose which could not fail to please a young man who hated hisown idleness.

Orsino found that his mood had changed. He was less angry than he hadmeant to be, and he saw extenuating circumstances where he had at firstonly seen a wilful mistake. He sat down again.

"Confess that he is not the impossible creature you supposed," saidMaria Consuelo with a laugh.

"No, he is not. I had imagined something very different. Nevertheless, Iwish--one never has the least right to wish what one wishes--" Hestopped in the middle of the sentence.

"That I had not gone to his wife's party, you would say? But my dear DonOrsino, why should I refuse pleasant things when they come into mylife?"

"Was it so pleasant?"

"Of course it was. A beautiful dinner--half a dozen clever men, allinterested in the affairs of the day, and all anxious to explain them tome because I was a stranger. A hundred people or so in the evening, whoall seemed to enjoy themselves as much as I did. Why should I refuse allthat? Because my first acquaintance in Rome--who was Gouache--is so'indifferent,' and because you--my second--are a pronounced clerical?That is not reasonable."

"I do not pretend to be reasonable," said Orsino. "To be reasonable isthe boast of people who feel nothing."

"Then you are a man of heart?" Maria Consuelo seemed amused.

"I make no pretence to being a man of head, Madame."

"You are not easily caught."

"Nor Del Ferice either."

"Why do you talk of him?"

"The opportunity is good, Madame. As he is just gone, we know that he isnot coming."

"You can be very sarcastic, when you like," said Maria Consuelo. "But Ido not believe that you are as bitter as you make yourself out to be. Ido not even believe that you found Del Ferice so very disagreeable asyou pretend. You were certainly interested in what he said."

"Interest is not always agreeable. The guillotine, for instance,possesses the most lively interest for the condemned man at anexecution."

"Your illustrations are startling. I once saw an execution, quite byaccident, and I would rather not think of it. But you can hardly compareDel Ferice to the guillotine."

"He is as noiseless, as keen and as sure," said Orsino smartly.

"There is such a thing as being too clever," answered Maria Consuelo,without a smile.

"Is Del Ferice a case of that?"

"No. You are. You say cutting things merely because they come into yourhead, though I am sure that you do not always mean them. It is a badhabit."

"Because it makes enemies, Madame?" Orsino was annoyed by the rebuke.

"That is the least good of good reasons."

"Another, then?"

"It will prevent people from loving you," said Maria Consuelo gravely.

"I never heard that--"

"No? It is true, nevertheless."

"In that case I will reform at once," said Orsino, trying to meet hereyes. But she looked away from him.

"You think that I am preaching to you," she answered. "I have not theright to do that, and if I had, I would certainly not use it. But I haveseen something of the world. Women rarely love a man who is bitteragainst any one but himself. If he says cruel things of other women, theone to whom he says them believes that he will say much worse of her tothe next he meets; if he abuses the men she knows, she likes it evenless--it is an attack on her judgment, on her taste and perhaps upon ahalf-developed sympathy for the man attacked. One should never be wittyat another person's expense, except with one's own sex." She laughed alittle.

"What a terrible conclusion!"

"Is it? It is the true one."

"Then the way to win a woman's love is to praise her acquaintances? Thatis original."

"I never said that."

"No? I misunderstood. What is the best way?"

"Oh--it is very simple," laughed Maria Consuelo.

"Tell her you love her, and tell her so again and again--you willcertainly please her in the end."

"Madame--" Orsino stopped, and folded his hands with an air of devoutsupplication.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing! I was about to begin. It seemed so simple, as you say."

They both laughed and their eyes met for a moment.

"Del Ferice interests me very much," said Maria Consuelo, abruptlyreturning to the original subject of conversation. "He is one of thosemen who will be held responsible for much that is now doing. Is it nottrue? He has great influence."

"I have always heard so." Orsino was not pleased at being driven to talkof Del Ferice again.

"Do you think what he said about you so altogether absurd?"

"Absurd, no--impracticable, perhaps. You mean his suggestion that Ishould try a little speculation? Frankly, I had no idea that such thingscould be begun with so little capital. It seems incredible. I fancy thatDel Ferice was exaggerating. You know how carelessly bankers talk of afew thousands, more or less. Nothing short of a million has much meaningfor them. Three thousand or thirty thousand--it is much the same intheir estimation."

"I daresay. After all, why should you risk anything? I suppose it issimpler to play cards, though I should think it less amusing. I was onlythinking how easy it would be for you to find a serious occupation ifyou chose."

Orsino was silent for a moment, and seemed to be thinking over thematter.

"Would you advise me to enter upon such a business without my father'sknowledge?" he asked presently.

"How can I advise you? Besides, your father would let you do as youplease. There is nothing dishonourable in such things. The prejudiceagainst business is old-fashioned, and if you do not break through ityour children will."

Orsino looked thoughtfully at Maria Consuelo. She sometimes found anoddly masculine bluntness with which to express her meaning, and whichproduced a singular impression on the young man. It made him feel whathe supposed to be a sort of weakness, of which he ought to be ashamed.

"There is nothing dishonourable in the theory," he answered, "and thepractice depends on the individual."

Maria Consuelo laughed.

"You see--you can be a moralist when you please," she said.

There was a wonderful attraction in her yellow eyes just at that moment.

"To please you, Madame, I could do something much worse--or muchbetter."

He was not quite in earnest, but he was not jesting, and his face wasmore serious than his voice. Maria Consuelo's hand was lying on thetable beside the silver paper-cutter. The white, pointed fingers werevery tempting and he would willingly have touched them. He put out hishand. If she did not draw hers away he would lay his own upon it. If shedid, he would take up the paper-cutter. As it turned out, he had tocontent himself with the latter. She did not draw her hand away asthough she understood what he was going to do, but quietly raised it andturned the shade of the lamp a few inches.

"I would rather not be responsible for your choice," she said quietly.

"And yet you have left me none," he answered with, sudden boldness.

"No? How so?"

He held up the silver knife and smiled.

"I do not understand," she said, affecting a look of surprise.

"I was going to ask your permission to take your hand."

"Indeed? Why? There it is." She held it out frankly.

He took the beautiful fingers in his and looked at them for a moment.Then he quietly raised them to his lips.

"That was not included in the permission," she said, with a little laughand drawing back. "Now you ought to go away at once."

"Why?"

"Because that little ceremony can belong only to the beginning or theend of a visit."

"I have only just come."

"Ah? How long the time has seemed! I fancied you had been here half anhour."

"To me it has seemed but a minute," answered Orsino promptly.

"And you will not go?"

There was nothing of the nature of a peremptory dismissal in the lookwhich accompanied the words.

"No--at the most, I will practise leave-taking."

"I think not," said Maria Consuelo with sudden coldness. "You are alittle too--what shall I say?--too enterprising, prince. You had bettermake use of the gift where it will be a recommendation--in business, forinstance."

Maria Consuelo was silent for a few seconds. Her head was resting uponthe little red morocco cushion, which heightened the dazzling whitenessof her skin and lent a deeper colour to her auburn hair. She was gazingat the hangings above the door. Orsino watched her in quiet admiration.She was beautiful as he saw her there at that moment, for theirregularities of her features were forgotten in the brilliancy of hercolouring and in the grace of the attitude. Her face was serious atfirst. Gradually a smile stole over it, beginning, as it seemed, fromthe deeply set eyes and concentrating itself at last in the full, redmouth. Then she spoke, still looking upwards and away from him.

"What would you think if I were not a little severe?" she asked. "I am awoman living--travelling, I should say--quite alone, a stranger here,and little less than a stranger to you. What would you think if I werenot a little severe, I say? What conclusion would you come to, if I letyou take my hand as often as you pleased, and say whatever suggesteditself to your imagination--your very active imagination?"

"I should think you the most adorable of women--"

"But it is not my ambition to be thought the most adorable of women byyou, Prince Orsino."

"No--of course not. People never care for what they get without aneffort."

"And you do not like that! I will be meekness itself--a lamb, if youplease."

"Too playful--it would not suit your style."

"A stone--"

"I detest geology."

"A lap-dog, then. Make your choice, Madame. The menagerie of theuniverse is at your disposal. When Adam gave names to the animals, hecould have called a lion a lap-dog--to reassure the Africans. But helacked imagination--he called a cat, a cat."

"That had the merit of simplicity, at all events."

"Since you admire his system, you may call me either Cain or Abel,"suggested Orsino. "Am I humble enough? Can submission go farther?"

"Either would be flattery--for Abel was good and Cain was interesting."

"And I am neither--you give me another opportunity of exhibiting my deephumility. I thank you sincerely. You are becoming more gracious than Ihad hoped."

"You are very like a woman, Don Orsino. You always try to have the lastword."

"I always hope that the last word may be the best. But I accept thecriticism--or the reproach, with my usual gratitude. I only beg you toobserve that to let you have the last word would be for me to end theconversation, after which I should be obliged to go away. And I do notwish to go, as I have already said."

"You suggest the means of making you go," answered Maria Consuelo, witha smile. "I can be silent--if you will not."

"It will be useless. If you do not interrupt me, I shall becomeeloquent--"

"How terrible! Pray do not!"

"You see! I have you in my power. You cannot get rid of me."

"I would appeal to your generosity, then."

"That is another matter, Madame," said Orsino, taking his hat.

"I only said that I would--" Maria Consuelo made a gesture to stop him.

But he was wise enough to see that the conversation had reached itsnatural end, and his instinct told him that he should not outstay hiswelcome. He pretended not to see the motion of her hand, and rose totake his leave.

"You do not know me," he said. "To point out to me a possible generousaction, is to ensure my performing it without hesitation. When may I beso fortunate as to see you again, Madame?"

"You need not be so intensely ceremonious. You know that I am always athome at this hour."

Orsino was very much struck by this answer. There was a shade ofirritation in the tone, which he had certainly not expected, and whichflattered him exceedingly. She turned her face away as she gave him herhand and moved a book on the table with the other as though she meant tobegin reading almost before he should be out of the room. He had notfelt by any means sure that she really liked his society, and he had notexpected that she would so far forget herself as to show her inclinationby her impatience. He had judged, rightly or wrongly, that she was awoman who weighed every word and gesture beforehand, and who would beincapable of such an oversight as an unpremeditated manifestation offeeling.

Very young men are nowadays apt to imagine complications of characterwhere they do not exist, often overlooking them altogether where theyplay a real part. The passion for analysis discovers what it takes fornew simple elements in humanity's motives, and often ends by feeding onitself in the effort to decompose what is not composite. The greatestanalysers are perhaps the young and the old, who, being respectivelybefore and behind the times, are not so intimate with them as those whoare actually making history, political or social, ethical or scandalous,dramatic or comic.

It is very much the custom among those who write fiction in the Englishlanguage to efface their own individuality behind the majestic butrather meaningless plural, "we," or to let the characters createdexpress the author's view of mankind. The great French novelists aremore frank, for they say boldly "I," and have the courage of theiropinions. Their merit is the greater, since those opinions seem to berarely complimentary to the human race in general, or to their readersin particular. Without introducing any comparison between the fiction ofthe two languages, it may be said that the tendency of the method isidentical in both cases and is the consequence of an extreme preferencefor analysis, to the detriment of the romantic and very often of thedramatic element in the modern novel. The result may or may not be avolume of modern social history for the instruction of the present andthe future generation. If it is not, it loses one of the chief meritswhich it claims; if it is, then we must admit the rather strangededuction, that the political history of our times has absorbed intoitself all the romance and the tragedy at the disposal of destiny,leaving next to none at all in the private lives of the actors andtheir numerous relations.

Whatever the truth may be, it is certain that this love of minutedissection is exercising an enormous influence in our time; and as noone will pretend that a majority of the young persons in society whoanalyse the motives of their contemporaries and elders are successfulmoral anatomists, we are forced to the conclusion that they arefrequently indebted to their imaginations for the results they obtainand not seldom for the material upon which they work. A real Chemistrymay some day grow out of the failures of this fanciful Alchemy, but thepresent generation will hardly live to discover the philosopher's stone,though the search for it yield gold, indirectly, by the writing of manynovels. If fiction is to be counted among the arts at all, it is not yettime to forget the saying of a very great man: "It is the mission of allart to create and foster agreeable illusions."

Orsino Saracinesca was no further removed from the action of theanalytical bacillus than other men of his age. He believed and desiredhis own character to be more complicated than it was, and he had nosooner made the acquaintance of Maria Consuelo than he began toattribute to her minutest actions such a tortuous web of motives aswould have annihilated all action if it had really existed in her brain.The possible simplicity of a strong and much tried character, good orbad, altogether escaped him, and even an occasional unrestrained word orgesture failed to convince him that he was on the wrong track. To tellthe truth, he was as yet very inexperienced. His visits to MariaConsuelo passed in making light conversation. He tried to amuse her, andsucceeded fairly well, while at the same time he indulged in endless andfruitless speculations as to her former life, her present intentions andher sentiments with regard to himself. He would have liked to lead herinto talking of herself, but he did not know where to begin. It was nota part of his system to believe in mysteries concerning people, butwhen he reflected upon the matter he was amazed at the impenetrabilityof the barrier which cut him off from all knowledge of her life. He soonheard the tales about her which were carelessly circulated at the club,and he listened to them without much interest, though he took thetrouble to deny their truth on his own responsibility, which surprisedthe men who knew him and gave rise to the story that he was in love withMadame d'Aranjuez. The most annoying consequence of the rumour was thatevery woman to whom he spoke in society overwhelmed him with questionswhich he could not answer except in the vaguest terms. In his ignorancehe did his best to evolve a satisfactory history for Maria Consuelo outof his imagination, but the result was not satisfactory.

He continued his visits to her, resolving before each meeting that hewould risk offending her by putting some question which she must eitheranswer directly or refuse to answer altogether. But he had not countedupon his own inherent hatred of rudeness, nor upon the growth of anattachment which he had not foreseen when he had coldly made up his mindthat it would be worth while to make love to her, as Gouache hadlaughingly suggested. Yet he was pleased with what he deemed his owncoldness. He assuredly did not love her, but he knew already that hewould not like to give up the half hours he spent with her. To offendher seriously would be to forfeit a portion of his daily amusement whichhe could not spare.

From time to time he risked a careless, half-jesting declaration such asmany a woman might have taken seriously. But Maria Consuelo turned suchadvances with a laugh or by an answer that was admirably tempered withquiet dignity and friendly rebuke.

"If she is not good," he said to himself at last, "she must beenormously clever. She must be one or the other."

CHAPTER IX.

Orsino's twenty-first birthday fell in the latter part of January, whenthe Roman season was at its height, but as the young man's majority didnot bring him any of those sudden changes in position which make epochsin the lives of fatherless sons, the event was considered as a familymatter and no great social celebration of it was contemplated. Itchanced, too, that the day of the week was the one appropriated by theMontevarchi for their weekly dance, with which it would have been amistake to interfere. The old Prince Saracinesca, however, insisted thata score of old friends should be asked to dinner, to drink the health ofhis eldest grandson, and this was accordingly done.

Orsino always looked back to that banquet as one of the dullest at whichhe ever assisted. The friends were literally old, and their conversationwas not brilliant. Each one on arriving addressed to him a fewcongratulatory and moral sentiments, clothed in rounded periods andtwanging of Cicero in his most sermonising mood. Each drank his especialhealth at the end of the dinner in a teaspoonful of old "vin santo," andeach made a stiff compliment to Corona on her youthful appearance. Themen were almost all grandees of Spain of the first class and wore theirribbons by common consent, which lent the assembly an imposingappearance; but several of them were of a somnolent disposition andnodded after dinner, which did not contribute to prolong the effectproduced. Orsino thought their stories and anecdotes very long-windedand pointless, and even the old prince himself seemed oppressed by thesolemnity of the affair, and rarely laughed. Corona, with serene goodhumour did her best to make conversation, and a shade of animationoccasionally appeared at her end of the table; but Sant' Ilario wasbored to the verge of extinction and talked of nothing but archaeologyand the trial of the Cenci, wondering inwardly why he chose suchexceedingly dry subjects. As for Orsino, the two old princesses betweenwhom he was placed paid very little attention to him, and talked acrosshim about the merits of their respective confessors and directors. Hefrivolously asked them whether they ever went to the theatre, to whichthey replied very coldly that they went to their boxes when the piecewas not on the Index and when there was no ballet. Orsino understood whyhe never saw them at the opera, and relapsed into silence. The butler, ason of the legendary Pasquale of earlier days, did his best to cheer theyoungest of his masters with a great variety of wines; but Orsino wouldnot be comforted either by very dry champagne or very mellow claret. Buthe vowed a bitter revenge and swore to dance till three in the morningat the Montevarchi's and finish the night with a rousing baccarat at theclub, which projects he began to put into execution as soon as waspracticable.

In due time the guests departed, solemnly renewing their expressions ofgood wishes, and the Saracinesca household was left to itself. The oldprince stood before the fire in the state drawing-room, rubbing hishands and shaking his head. Giovanni and Corona sat on opposite sides ofthe fireplace, looking at each other and somewhat inclined to laugh.Orsino was intently studying a piece of historical tapestry which hadnever interested him before.

The silence lasted some time. Then old Saracinesca raised his head andgave vent to his feelings, with all his old energy.

"What a museum!" he exclaimed. "I would not have believed that I shouldlive to dine in my own house with a party of stranded figure-heads, setup in rows around my table! The paint is all worn off and the brains areall worn out and there is nothing left but a cracked old block of woodwith a ribbon around its neck. You will be just like them, Giovanni, ina few years, for you will be just like me--we all turn into the sameshape at seventy, and if we live a dozen years longer it is becauseProvidence designs to make us an awful example to the young."

"I hope you do not call yourself a figure-head," said Giovanni.

"They are calling me by worse names at this very minute as they drivehome. 'That old Methuselah of a Saracinesca, how has he the face to goon living?' That is the way they talk. 'People ought to die decentlywhen other people have had enough of them, instead of sitting up at thetable like death's-heads to grin at their grandchildren andgreat-grandchildren!' They talk like that, Giovanni. I have known someof those old monuments for sixty years and more--since they were babiesand I was of Orsino's age. Do you suppose I do not know how they talk?You always take me for a good, confiding old fellow, Giovanni. But then,you never understood human nature."

Giovanni laughed and Corona smiled. Orsino turned round to enjoy therare delight of seeing the old gentleman rouse himself in a fit oftemper.

"If you were ever confiding it was because you were too good," saidGiovanni affectionately.

"Yes--good and confiding--that is it! You always did agree with me as tomy own faults. Is it not true, Corona? Can you not take my part againstthat graceless husband of yours? He is always abusing me--as though Iwere his property, or his guest. Orsino, my boy, go away--we are allquarrelling here like a pack of wolves, and you ought to respect yourelders. Here is your father calling me by bad names--"

"I said you were too good," observed Giovanni.

"Yes--good and confiding! If you can find anything worse to say, sayit--and may you live to hear that good-for-nothing Orsino call you goodand confiding when you are eighty-two years old. And Corona is laughingat me. It is insufferable. You used to be a good girl, Corona--but youare so proud of having four sons that there is no possibility of talkingto you any longer. It is a pity that you have not brought them upbetter. Look at Orsino. He is laughing too."

"Certainly not at you, grandfather," the young man hastened to say.

"Then you must be laughing at your father or your mother, or both, sincethere is no one else here to laugh at. You are concocting sharp speechesfor your abominable tongue. I know it. I can see it in your eyes. Thatis the way you have brought up your children, Giovanni. I congratulateyou. Upon my word, I congratulate you with all my heart! Not that I everexpected anything better. You addled your own brains with curiousforeign ideas on your travels--the greater fool I for letting you runabout the world when you were young. I ought to have locked you up inSaracinesca, on bread and water, until you understood the world wellenough to profit by it. I wish I had."

None of the three could help laughing at this extraordinary speech.Orsino recovered his gravity first, by the help of the historicaltapestry. The old gentleman noticed the fact.

"Come here, Orsino, my boy," he said. "I want to talk to you."

Orsino came forward. The old prince laid a hand on his shoulder andlooked up into his face.

"You are twenty-one years old to-day," he said, "and we are allquarrelling in honour of the event. You ought to be flattered that weshould take so much trouble to make the evening pass pleasantly for you,but you probably have not the discrimination to see what your amusementcosts us."

His grey beard shook a little, his rugged features twitched, and then abroad good-humoured smile lit up the old face.

"We are quarrelsome people," he continued in his most Cheerful andhearty tone. "When Giovanni and I were young--we were young together,you know--we quarrelled every day as regularly as we ate and drank. Ibelieve it was very good for us. We generally made it up beforenight--for the sake of beginning again with a clear conscience. Anythingserved us--the weather, the soup, the colour of a horse."

"You must have led an extremely lively life," observed Orsino,considerably amused.

"It was very well for us, Orsino. But it will not do for you. You arenot so much like your father, as he was like me at your age. We foughtwith the same weapons, but you two would not, if you fought at all. Wefenced for our own amusement and we kept the buttons on the foils. Youhave neither my really angelic temper nor your father's stonycoolness--he is laughing again--no matter, he knows it is true. You havea diabolical tongue. Do not quarrel with your father for amusement,Orsino. His calmness will exasperate you as it does me, but you will notlaugh at the right moment as I have done all my life. You will bearmalice and grow sullen and permanently disagreeable. And do not say allthe cutting things you think of, because with your disposition you willget into serious trouble. If you have really good cause for being angry,it is better to strike than to speak, and in such cases I stronglyadvise you to strike first. Now go and amuse yourself, for you must havehad enough of our company. I do not think of any other advice to giveyou on your coming of age."

Thereupon he laughed again and pushed his grandson away, evidentlydelighted with the lecture he had given him. Orsino was quick to profitby the permission and was soon in the Montevarchi ballroom, doing hisbest to forget the lugubrious feast in his own honour at which he hadlately assisted.

He was not altogether successful, however. He had looked forward to theday for many months as one of rejoicing as well as of emancipation, andhe had been grievously disappointed. There was something of ill augury,he thought, in the appalling dulness of the guests, for they hadcongratulated him upon his entry into a life exactly similar to theirown. Indeed, the more precisely similar it proved to be, the more hewould be respected when he reached their advanced age. The futureunfolded to him was not gay. He was to live forty, fifty or even sixtyyears in the same round of traditions and hampered by the same net ofprejudices. He might have his romance, as his father had had before him,but there was nothing beyond that. His father seemed perfectly satisfiedwith his own unruffled existence and far from desirous of any change.The feudalism of it all was still real in fact, though abolished intheory, and the old prince was as much a great feudal lord as ever,whose interests were almost tribal in their narrowness, almost sordid intheir detail, and altogether uninteresting to his presumptive heir inthe third generation. What was the peasant of Aquaviva, for instance, toOrsino? Yet Sant' Ilario and old Saracinesca took a lively interest inhis doings and in the doings of four or five hundred of his kind, whomthey knew by name and spoke of as belongings, much as they would havespoken of books in the library. To collect rents from peasants and toascertain in person whether their houses needed repair was not a career.Orsino thought enviously of San Giacinto's two sons, leading what seemedto him a life of comparative activity and excitement in the Italianarmy, and having the prospect of distinction by their own merits. Hethought of San Giacinto himself, of his ceaseless energy and of thegreat position he was building up. San Giacinto was a Saracinesca aswell as Orsino, bearing the same name and perhaps not less respectedthan the rest by the world at large, though he had sullied his handswith finance. Even Del Ferice's position would have been abovecriticism, but for certain passages in his earlier life not immediatelyconnected with his present occupation. And as if such instances were notenough there were, to Orsino's certain knowledge, half a dozen men ofhis father's rank even now deeply engaged in the speculations of theday. Montevarchi was one of them, and neither he nor the others made anysecret of their doings.

"Surely," thought Orsino, "I have as good a head as any of them, except,perhaps, San Giacinto."

And he grew more and more discontented with his lot, and more and moreangry at himself for submitting to be bound hand and foot and sacrificedupon the altar of feudalism. Everything had disappointed and irritatedhim on that day, the weariness of the dinner, the sight of his parents'placid felicity, the advice his grandfather had given him--good of itskind, but lamentably insufficient, to say the least of it. He wasrapidly approaching that state of mind in which young men do the mostunexpected things for the mere pleasure of surprising their relations.

He grew tired of the ball, because Madame d'Aranjuez was not there. Helonged to dance with her and he wished that he were at liberty tofrequent the houses la which she was asked. But as yet she saw only theWhites and had not made the acquaintance of a single Grey family, inspite of his entreaties. He could not tell whether she had any fixedreason in making her choice, or whether as yet it had been the result ofchance, but he discovered that he was bored wherever he went because shewas not present. At supper-time on this particular evening, he enteredinto a conspiracy with certain choice spirits to leave the party andadjourn to the club and cards.

The sight of the tables revived him and he drew a long breath as he satdown with a cigarette in his mouth and a glass at his elbow. It seemedas though the day were beginning at last.

Orsino was no more a born gambler than he was disposed to be a harddrinker. He loved excitement in any shape, and being so constituted asto bear it better than most men, he took it greedily in whatever form itwas offered to him. He neither played nor drank every day, but when hedid either he was inclined to play more than other people and to consumemore strong liquor. Yet his judgment was not remarkable, nor his headmuch stronger than the heads of his companions. Great gamblers do notdrink, and great drinkers are not good players, though they aresometimes amazingly lucky when in their cups.

It is of no use to deny the enormous influence of brandy and games ofchance on the men of the present day, but there is little profit indescribing such scenes as take place nightly in many clubs all overEurope. Something might be gained, indeed, if we could trace the causeswhich have made gambling especially the vice of our generation, for thatdiscovery might show us some means of influencing the next. But I do notbelieve that this is possible. The times have undoubtedly grown moredull, as civilisation has made them more alike, but there is, I think,no truth in the common statement that vice is bred of idleness. Thereally idle man is a poor creature, incapable of strong sins. It is farmore often the man of superior gifts, with faculties overwrought andnerves strained above concert pitch by excessive mental exertion, whoturns to vicious excitement for the sake of rest, as a duller man fallsasleep. Men whose lives are spent amidst the vicissitudes, surprises anddisappointments of the money market are assuredly less idle than countrygentlemen; the busy lawyer has less time to spare than the equallygifted fellow of a college; the skilled mechanic works infinitelyharder, taking the average of the whole year, than the agriculturallabourer; the life of a sailor on an ordinary merchant ship is one ofrest, ease and safety compared with that of the collier. Yet there canhardly be a doubt as to which individual in each example is the one toseek relaxation in excitement, innocent or the reverse, instead of insleep. The operator in the stock market, the barrister, the mechanic,the miner, in every case the men whose faculties are the more severelystrained, are those who seek strong emotions in their daily leisure, andwho are the more inclined to extend that leisure at the expense ofbodily rest. It may be objected that the worst vice is found in thehighest grades of society, that is to say, among men who have no settledoccupation. I answer that, in the first place, this is not a known fact,but a matter of speculation, and that the conclusion is principallydrawn from the circumstance that the evil deeds of such persons, whenthey become known, are very severely criticised by those whose criticismhas the most weight, namely by the equals of the sinners in question--aswell as by writers of fiction whose opinions may or may not be worthconsidering. For one Zola, historian of the Rougon-Macquart family,there are a hundred would-be Zolas, censors of a higher class, lessunpleasantly fond of accurate detail, perhaps, but as merciless inintention. But even if the case against society be proved, which ispossible, I do not think that society can truly be called idle, becausemany of those who compose it have no settled occupation. The social dayis a long one. Society would not accept the eight hours' system demandedby the labour unions. Society not uncommonly works at a high pressurefor twelve, fourteen and even sixteen hours at a stretch. The mentalstrain, though, not of the most intellectual order, is incomparably moresevere than that required for success in many lucrative professions orcrafts. The general absence of a distinct aim sharpens the faculties inthe keen pursuit of details, and lends an importance to trifles whichoverburdens at every turn the responsibility borne by the nerves. Lazypeople are not favourites in drawing-rooms, and still less at thedinner-table. Consider also that the average man of the world, and manywomen, daily sustain an amount of bodily fatigue equal perhaps to thatborne by many mechanics and craftsmen and much greater than thatrequired in the liberal professions, and that, too, under far lessfavourable conditions. Recapitulate all these points. Add together thephysical effort, the mental activity, the nervous strain. Take the sumand compare it with that got by a similar process from other conditionsof existence. I think there can be little doubt of the verdict. Theforce exerted is wasted, if you please, but it is enormously great, andmore than sufficient to prove that those who daily exert it are by nomeans idle. Besides, none of the inevitable outward and visible resultsof idleness are apparent in the ordinary society man or woman. On thecontrary, most of them exhibit the peculiar and unmistakable signs ofphysical exhaustion, chief of which is cerebral anaemia. They areovertrained and overworked. In the language of training they are"stale."

Men like Orsino Saracinesca are not vicious at his age, though they maybecome so. Vice begins when the excitement ceases to be a matter oftaste and turns into a necessity. Orsino gambled because it amused himwhen no other amusement was obtainable, and he drank while he playedbecause it made the amusement seem more amusing. He was far too youngand healthy and strong to feel an irresistible longing for anything notnatural.

On the present occasion he cared very little, at first, whether he wonor lost, and as often happens to a man in that mood he won aconsiderable sum during the first hour. The sight of the notes beforehim strengthened an idea which had crossed his mind more than once oflate, and the stimulants he drank suddenly fixed it into a purpose. Itwas true that he did not command any sum of money which could bedignified by the name of capital, but he generally had enough in hispocket to play with, and to-night he had rather more than usual. Itstruck him that if he could win a few thousands by a run of luck, hewould have more than enough to try his fortune in the buildingspeculations of which Del Ferice had talked. The scheme took shape andat once lent a passionate interest to his play.

Orsino had no system and generally left everything to chance, but hehad no sooner determined that he must win than he improvised a method,and began to play carefully. Of course he lost, and as he saw his heapof notes diminishing, he filled his glass more and more often. By twoo'clock he had but five hundred francs left, his face was deadly pale,the lights dazzled him and his hands moved uncertainly. He held the bankand he knew that if he lost on the card he must borrow money, which hedid not wish to do.

He dealt himself a five of spades, and glanced at the stakes. They wereconsiderable. A last sensation of caution prevented him from takinganother card. The table turned up a six and he lost.

"Lend me some money, Filippo," he said to the man nearest him, whoimmediately counted out a number of notes.

Orsino paid with the money and the bank passed. He emptied his glass andlit a cigarette. At each succeeding deal he staked a small sum and lostit, till the bank came to him again. Once more he held a five. The othermen saw that he was losing and put up all they could. Orsino hesitated.Some one observed justly that he probably held a five again. The lightsswam indistinctly before him and he drew another card. It was a four.Orsino laughed nervously as he gathered the notes and paid back what hehad borrowed.

He did not remember clearly what happened afterwards. The faces of thecards grew less distinct and the lights more dazzling. He played blindlyand won almost without interruption until the other men dropped off oneby one, having lost as much as they cared to part with at one sitting.At four o'clock in the morning Orsino went home in a cab, having aboutfifteen thousand francs in his pockets. The men he had played with weremostly young fellows like himself, having a limited allowance of pocketmoney, and Orsino's winnings were very large under the circumstances.

The night air cooled his head and he laughed gaily to himself as hedrove through the deserted streets. His hand was steady enough now, andthe gas lamps did not move disagreeably before his eyes. But he hadreached the stage of excitement in which a fixed idea takes hold of thebrain, and if it had been possible he would undoubtedly have gone as hewas, in evening dress, with his winnings in his pocket, to rouse DelFerice, or San Giacinto, or any one else who could put him in the way ofrisking his money on a building lot. He reluctantly resigned himself tothe necessity of going to bed, and slept as one sleeps at twenty-oneuntil nearly eleven o'clock on the following morning.

While he dressed he recalled the circumstances of the previous night andwas surprised to find that his idea was as fixed as ever. He counted themoney. There was five times as much as the Del Ferice's carpenter,tobacconist and mason had been able to scrape together amongst them. Hehad therefore, according to his simple calculation, just five times asgood a chance of succeeding as they. And they had been successful. Hisplan fascinated him, and he looked forward to the constant interest andoccupation with a delight which was creditable to his character. Hewould be busy and the magic word "business" rang in his ears. It wasspeculation, no doubt, but he did not look upon it as a form ofgambling; if he had done so, he would not have cared for it on twoconsecutive days. It was something much better in his eyes. It was to dosomething, to be some one, to strike out of the everlastingly dull roadwhich lay before him and which ended in the vanishing point of aninsignificant old age.

He had not the very faintest conception of what that business was withwhich he aspired to occupy himself. He was totally ignorant of themethods of dealing with money, and he no more knew what a draft at threemonths meant than he could have explained the construction of the watchhe carried in his pocket. Of the first principles of building he knew,if possible, even less and he did not know whether land in the citywere worth a franc or a thousand francs by the square foot. But he saidto himself that those things were mere details, and that he could learnall he needed of them in a fortnight. Courage and judgment, Del Fericehad said, were the chief requisites for success. Courage he possessed,and he believed himself cool. He would avail himself of the judgment ofothers until he could judge for himself.

He knew very well what his father would think of the whole plan, but hehad no intention of concealing his project. Since yesterday, he was ofage and was therefore his own master to the extent of his own smallresources. His father had not the power to keep him from entering uponany honourable undertaking, though he might justly refuse to beresponsible for the consequences. At the worst, thought Orsino, thoseconsequences might be the loss of the money he had in hand. Since he hadnothing else to risk, he had nothing else to lose. That is the light inwhich most inexperienced people regard speculation. Orsino thereforewent to his father and unfolded his scheme, without mentioning DelFerice.

Sant' Ilario listened rather impatiently and laughed when Orsino hadfinished. He did not mean to be unkind, and if he had dreamed of theeffect his manner would produce, he would have been more careful. But hedid not understand his son, as he himself had been understood by his ownfather.

"This is all nonsense, my boy," he answered. "It is a mere passingfancy. What do you know of business or architecture, or of a dozen othermatters which you ought to understand thoroughly before attemptinganything like what you propose?"

Orsino was silent, and looked out of the window, though he was evidentlylistening.

"You say you want an occupation. This is not one. Banking is anoccupation, and architecture is a career, but what we call affairs inRome are neither one nor the other. If you want to be a banker you mustgo into a bank and do clerk's work for years. If you mean to followarchitecture as a profession you must spend four or five years in studyat the very least."

"San Giacinto has not done that," observed Orsino coldly.

"San Giacinto has a very much better head on his shoulders than you, orI, or almost any other man in Rome. He has known how to make use ofother men's talents, and he had a rather more practical education than Iwould have cared to give you. If he were not one of the most honest menalive he would certainly have turned out one of the greatestscoundrels."

"I do not see what that has to do with it," said Orsino.

"Not much, I confess. But his early life made him understand men as youand I cannot understand them, and need not, for that matter."

"Then you object to my trying this?"

"I do nothing of the kind. When I object to the doing of anything Iprevent it, by fair words or by force. I am not inclined for a pitchedbattle with you, Orsino, and I might not get the better of you afterall. I will be perfectly neutral. I will have nothing to do with thisbusiness. If I believed in it, I would give you all the capital youcould need, but I shall not diminish your allowance in order to hinderyou from throwing it away. If you want more money for your amusements orluxuries, say so. I am not fond of counting small expenses, and I havenot brought you up to count them either. Do not gamble at cards any morethan you can help, but if you lose and must borrow, borrow of me. When Ithink you are going too far, I will tell you so. But do not count uponme for any help in this scheme of yours. You will not get it. If youfind yourself in a commercial scrape, find your own way out of it. Ifyou want better advice than mine, go to San Giacinto. He will give you apractical man's view of the case."

"You are frank, at all events," said Orsino, turning from the windowand facing his father.

"Most of us are in this house," answered Sant' Ilario. "That will makeit all the harder for you to deal with the scoundrels who callthemselves men of business."

"I mean to try this, father," said the young man. "I will go and see SanGiacinto, as you suggest, and I will ask his opinion. But if hediscourages me I will try my luck all the same. I cannot lead this lifeany longer. I want an occupation and I will make one for myself."

"It is not an occupation that you want, Orsino. It is anotherexcitement. That is all. If you want an occupation, study, learnsomething, find out what work means. Or go to Saracinesca and buildhouses for the peasants--you will do no harm there, at all events. Goand drain that land in Lombardy--I can do nothing with it and would sellit if I could. But that is not what you want. You want an excitement forthe hours of the morning. Very well. You will probably find more of itthan you like. Try it, that is all I have to say."

Like many very just men Giovanni could state a case with alarmingunfairness when thoroughly convinced that he was right. Orsino stoodstill for a moment and then walked towards the door without anotherword. His father called him back.

"What is it?" asked Orsino coldly.

Sant' Ilario held out his hand with a kindly look in his eyes.

"I do not want you to think that I am angry, my boy. There is to be noill feeling between us about this."

"None whatever," said the young man, though without much alacrity, as heshook hands with his father. "I see you are not angry. You do notunderstand me, that is all."

He went out, more disappointed with the result of the interview than hehad expected, though he had not looked forward to receiving anyencouragement. He had known very well what his father's views were buthe had not foreseen that he would be so much irritated by theexpression of them. His determination hardened and he resolved thatnothing should hinder him. But he was both willing and ready to consultSan Giacinto, and went to the latter's house immediately on leavingSant' Ilario's study.

As for Giovanni, he was dimly conscious that he had made a mistake,though he did not care to acknowledge it. He was a good horseman and hewas aware that he would have used a very different method with a restivecolt. But few men are wise enough to see that there is only oneuniversal principle to follow in the exertion of strength, moral orphysical; and instead of seeking analogies out of actions familiar tothem as a means of accomplishing the unfamiliar, they try to discovernew theories of motion at every turn and are led farther and fartherfrom the right line by their own desire to reach the end quickly.

"At all events," thought Sant' Ilario, "the boy's new hobby will takehim to places where he is not likely to meet that woman."

And with this discourteous reflection upon Madame d'Aranjuez he consoledhimself. He did not think it necessary to tell Corona of Orsino'sintentions, simply because he did not believe that they would lead toanything serious, and there was no use in disturbing her unnecessarilywith visions of future annoyance. If Orsino chose to speak of it to her,he was at liberty to do so.

CHAPTER X.

Orsino went directly to San Giacinto's house, and found him in the roomwhich he used for working and in which he received the many persons whomhe was often obliged to see on business. The giant was alone and wasseated behind a broad polished table, occupied in writing. Orsino wasstruck by the extremely orderly arrangement of everything he saw. Paperswere tied together in bundles of exactly like shape, which lay in twolines of mathematical precision. The big inkstand was just in the middleof the rows and a paper-cutter, a pen-rack and an erasing knife lay sideby side in front of it. The walls were lined with low book-cases of aheavy and severe type, filled principally with documents neatly filed involumes and marked on the back in San Giacinto's clear handwriting. Theonly object of beauty in the room was a full-length portrait of Flaviaby a great artist, which hung above the fireplace. The rigid symmetry ofeverything was made imposing by the size of the objects--the table waslarger than ordinary tables, the easy-chairs were deeper, broader andlower than common, the inkstand was bigger, even the penholder in SanGiacinto's fingers was longer and thicker than any Orsino had ever seen.And yet the latter felt that there was no affectation about all this.The man to whom these things belonged and who used them daily washimself created on a scale larger than other men.

Though he was older than Sant' Ilario and was, in fact, not far fromsixty years of age San Giacinto might easily have passed for less thanfifty. There was hardly a grey thread in his short, thick, black hair,and he was still as lean and strong, and almost as active, as he hadbeen thirty years earlier. The large features were perhaps a little morebony and the eyes somewhat deeper than they had been, but these changeslent an air of dignity rather than of age to the face.

He rose to meet Orsino and then made him sit down beside the table. Theyoung man suddenly felt an unaccountable sense of inferiority andhesitated as to how he should begin.

"I suppose you want to consult me about something," said San Giacintoquietly.

"Yes. I want to ask your advice, if you will give it to me--about amatter of business."

"Willingly. What is it?"

Orsino was silent for a moment and stared at the wall. He was consciousthat the very small sum of which he could dispose must seem even smallerin the eyes of such a man, but this did not disturb him. He wasoppressed by San Giacinto's personality and prepared himself to speak asthough he had been a student undergoing oral examination. He stated hiscase plainly, when he at last spoke. He was of age and he looked forwardwith dread to an idle life. All careers were closed to him. He hadfifteen thousand francs in his pocket. Could San Giacinto help him tooccupy himself by investing the sum in a building speculation? Was thesum sufficient as a beginning? Those were the questions.

San Giacinto did not laugh as Sant' Ilario had done. He listened veryattentively to the end and then deliberately offered Orsino a cigar andlit one himself, before he delivered his answer.

"You are asking the same question which is put to me very often," hesaid at last. "I wish I could give you any encouragement. I cannot."

Orsino's face fell, for the reply was categorical. He drew back a littlein his chair, but said nothing.

"That is my answer," continued San Giacinto thoughtfully, "but when onesays 'no' to another the subject is not necessarily exhausted. On thecontrary, in such a case as this I cannot let you go without giving youmy reasons. I do not care to give my views to the public, but such asthey are, you are welcome to them. The time is past. That is why Iadvise you to have nothing to do with any speculation of this kind. Thatis the best of all reasons."

"But you yourself are still engaged in this business," objected Orsino.

"Not so deeply as you fancy. I have sold almost everything which I donot consider a certainty, and am selling what little I still have asfast as I can. In speculation there are only two important moments--themoment to buy and the moment to sell. In my opinion, this is the timeto sell, and I do not think that the time for buying will come againwithout a crisis."

"But everything is in such a flourishing state--"

"No doubt it is--to-day. But no one can tell what state business will bein next week, nor even to-morrow."

"There is Del Ferice--"

"No doubt, and a score like him," answered San Giacinto, looking quietlyat Orsino. "Del Ferice is a banker, and I am a speculator, as you wishto be. His position is different from ours. It is better to leave himout of the question. Let us look at the matter logically. You wish tospeculate--"

"Excuse me," said Orsino, interrupting him. "I want to try what I can doin business."

"You wish to risk money, in one way or another. You therefore wish oneor more of three things--money for its own sake, excitement oroccupation. I can hardly suppose that you want money. Eliminate that.Excitement is not a legitimate aim, and you can get it more safely inother ways. Therefore you want occupation."

"That is precisely what I said at the beginning," observed Orsino with ashade of irritation.

"Yes. But I like to reach my conclusions in my own way. You are then ayoung man in search of an occupation. Speculation, and what you proposeis nothing else, is no more an occupation than playing at the publiclottery and much less one than playing at baccarat. There at least youare responsible for your own mistakes and in decent society you are safefrom the machinations of dishonest people. That would matter less if thechances were in your favour, as they might have been a year ago and asthey were in mine from the beginning. They are against you now, becauseit is too late, and they are against me. I would as soon buy a piece ofland on credit at the present moment, as give the whole sum in cash tothe first man I met in the street."

"Yet there is Montevarchi who still buys--"

"Montevarchi is not worth the paper on which he signs his name," saidSan Giacinto calmly.

Orsino uttered an exclamation of surprise and incredulity.

"You may tell him so, if you please," answered the giant with perfectindifference. "If you tell any one what I have said, please to tell himfirst, that is all. He will not believe you. But in six months he willknow it, I fancy, as well as I know it now. He might have doubled hisfortune, but he was and is totally ignorant of business. He thought itenough to invest all he could lay hands on and that the returns would besure. He has invested forty millions and owns property which he believesto be worth sixty, but which will not bring ten in six months, and thoseremaining ten millions he owes on all manner of paper, on mortgages onhis original property, in a dozen ways which he has forgotten himself."

"I do not see how that is possible!" exclaimed Orsino.

"I am a plain man, Orsino, and I am your cousin. You may take it forgranted that I am right. Do not forget that I was brought up in ahand-to-hand struggle for fortune such as you cannot dream of. When Iwas your age I was a practical man of business, and I had taught myself,and it was all on such a small scale that a mistake of a hundred francsmade the difference between profit and loss. I dislike details, but Ihave been a man of detail all my life, by force of circumstances.Successful business implies the comprehension of details. It is tediouswork, and if you mean to try it you must begin at the beginning. Youought to do so. There is an enormous business before you, withconsiderable capabilities in it. If I were in your place, I would takewhat fell naturally to my lot."

"What is that?"

"Farming. They call it agriculture in parliament, because they do notknow what farming means. The men who think that Italy can live withoutfarmers are fools. We are not a manufacturing people any more than weare a business people. The best dictator for us would be a practicalfarmer, a ploughman like Cincinnatus. Nobody who has not tried to raisewheat on an Italian mountain-side knows the great difficulties or thegreat possibilities of our country. Do you know that bad as our farmingis, and absurd as is our system of land taxation, we are food exporters,to a small extent? The beginning is there. Take my advice, be a farmer.Manage one of the big estates you have amongst you for five or sixyears. You will not do much good to the land in that time, but you willlearn what land really means. Then go into parliament and tell peoplefacts. That is an occupation and a career as well, which cannot be saidof speculation in building lots, large or small. If you have any readymoney keep it in government bonds until you have a chance of buyingsomething worth keeping."

Orsino went away disappointed and annoyed. San Giacinto's talk aboutfarming seemed very dull to him. To bury himself for half a dozen yearsin the country in order to learn the rotation of crops and theprinciples of land draining did not present itself as an attractivecareer. If San Giacinto thought farming the great profession of thefuture, why did he not try it himself? Orsino dismissed the idea ratherindignantly, and his determination to try his luck became stronger bythe opposition it met. Moreover he had expected very different languagefrom San Giacinto, whose sober view jarred on Orsino's enthusiasticimpulse.

But he now found himself in considerable difficulty. He was ignoranteven of the first steps to be taken, and knew no one to whom he couldapply for information. There was Prince Montevarchi indeed, who thoughhe was San Giacinto's brother-in-law, seemed by the latter's account tohave got into trouble. He did not understand how San Giacinto couldallow his wife's brother to ruin himself without lending him a helpinghand, but San Giacinto was not the kind of man of whom people askindiscreet questions, and Orsino had heard that the two men were not onthe best of terms. Possibly good advice had been offered and refused.Such affairs generally end in a breach of friendship. However that mightbe, Orsino would not go to Montevarchi.

He wandered aimlessly about the streets, and the money seemed to burn inhis pocket, though he had carefully deposited it in a place of safety athome. Again and again Del Ferice's story of the carpenter and his twocompanions recurred to his mind. He wondered how they had set aboutbeginning, and he wished he could ask Del Ferice himself. He could notgo to the man's house, but he might possibly meet him at MariaConsuelo's. He was surprised to find that he had almost forgotten her inhis anxiety to become a man of business. It was too early to call yet,and in order to kill the time he went home, got a horse from the stablesand rode out into the country for a couple of hours.

At half-past five o'clock he entered the familiar little sitting-room inthe hotel. Madame d'Aranjuez was alone, cutting a new book with thejewelled knife which continued to be the only object of the kind visiblein the room. She smiled as Orsino entered, and she laid aside the volumeas he sat down in his accustomed place.

"I thought you were not coming," she said.

"Why?"

"You always come at five. It is half-past to-day." Orsino looked at hiswatch.

"Do you notice whether I come or not?" he asked.

Maria Consuelo glanced at his face, and laughed.

"What have you been doing to-day?" she asked. "That is much moreinteresting."

"Is it? I am afraid not. I have been listening to those disagreeablethings which are called truths by the people who say them. I havelistened to two lectures delivered by two very intelligent men for myespecial benefit. It seems to me that as soon as I make a goodresolution it becomes the duty of sensible people to demonstrate that Iam a fool."

He was disappointed, but Maria Consuelo did not understand what was thematter. She leaned forward in her low seat, her chin resting upon onehand, and her tawny eyes fixed on Orsino's.

"Tell me, my friend--are you unhappy? Can I do anything? Will you tellme?"

It was not easy to resist the appeal. Though the two had grown intimateof late, there had hitherto always been something cold and reservedbehind her outwardly friendly manner. To-day she seemed suddenly willingto be different. Her easy, graceful attitude, her soft voice full ofpromised sympathy, above all the look in her strange eyes revealed aside of her character which Orsino had not suspected and which affectedhim in a way he could not have described.

Without hesitation he told her his story, from beginning to end, simply,without comment and without any of the cutting phrases which came soreadily to his tongue on most occasions. She listened very thoughtfullyto the end.

"Those things are not misfortunes," she said. "But they may be thebeginnings of unhappiness. To be unhappy is worse than any misfortune.What right has your father to laugh at you? Because he never needed todo anything for himself, he thinks it absurd that his son should dislikethe lazy life that is prepared for him. It is not reasonable--it is notkind!"

"Yet he means to be both, I suppose," said Orsino bitterly.

"Oh, of course! People always mean to be the soul of logic and theparagon of charity! Especially where their own children are concerned."

Maria Consuelo added the last words with more feeling than seemedjustified by her sympathy for Orsino's woes. The moment was perhapsfavourable for asking a leading question about herself, and her answermight have thrown light on her problematic past. But Orsino was too busywith his own troubles to think of that, and the opportunity slipped byand was lost.

"You know now why I want to see Del Ferice," he said. "I cannot go tohis house. My only chance of talking to him lies here."

"And that is what brings you? You are very flattering!"

"Do not be unjust! We all look forward to meeting our friends inheaven."

"Very pretty. I forgive you. But I am afraid that you will not meet DelFerice. I do not think he has left the Chambers yet. There was to be adebate this afternoon in which he had to speak."

"Does he make speeches?"

"Very good ones. I have heard him."

"I have never been inside the Chambers," observed Orsino.

"You are not very patriotic. You might go there and ask for Del Ferice.You could see him without going to his house--without compromising yourdignity."

"Why do you laugh?"

"Because it all seems to me so absurd. You know that you are perfectlyfree to go and see him when and where you will. There is nothing toprevent you. He is the one man of all others whose advice you need. Hehas an unexceptional position in the world--no doubt he has done strangethings, but so have dozens of people whom you know--his presentreputation is excellent, I say. And yet, because some twenty years ago,when you were a child, he held one opinion and your father held another,you are interdicted from crossing his threshold! If you can shake handswith him here, you can take his hand in his own house. Is not thattrue?"

"Theoretically, I daresay, but not in practice. You see it yourself. Youhave chosen one side from the first, and all the people on the otherside know it. As a foreigner, you are not bound to either, and you canknow everybody in time, if you please. Society is not so prejudiced asto object to that. But because you begin with the Del Ferice in a veryuncompromising way, it would take a long time for you to know theMontevarchi, for instance."

"Who told you that I was a foreigner?" asked Maria Consuelo, ratherabruptly.

"You yourself--"

"That is good authority!" She laughed. "I do not remember--ah! because Ido not speak Italian? You mean that? One may forget one's own language,or for that matter one may never have learned it."

"Are you Italian, then, Madame?" asked Orsino, surprised that she shouldlead the conversation so directly to a point which he had supposed mustbe reached by a series of tactful approaches.

"Who knows? I am sure I do not. My father was Italian. Does thatconstitute nationality?"

"Yes. But the woman takes the nationality of her husband, I believe,"said Orsino, anxious to hear more.

"Ah yes--poor Aranjuez!" Maria Consuelo's voice suddenly took thatsleepy tone which Orsino had heard more than once. Her eyelids drooped alittle and she lazily opened and shut her hand, and spread out thefingers and looked at them.

But Orsino was not satisfied to let the conversation drop at this point,and after a moment's pause he put a decisive question.

"And was Monsieur d'Aranjuez also Italian?" he asked.

"What does it matter?" she asked in the same indolent tone. "Yes, sinceyou ask me, he was Italian, poor man."

Orsino was more and more puzzled. That the name did not exist in Italyhe was almost convinced. He thought of the story of the Signor Aragno,who had fallen overboard in the south seas, and then he was suddenlyaware that he could not believe in anything of the sort. Maria Consuelodid not betray a shade of emotion, either, at the mention of herdeceased husband. She seemed absorbed in the contemplation of her hands.Orsino had not been rebuked for his curiosity and would have askedanother question if he had known how to frame it. An awkward silencefollowed. Maria Consuelo raised her eyes slowly and looked thoughtfullyinto Orsino's face.

"I see," she said at last. "You are curious. I do not know whether youhave any right to be--have you?"

"I wish I had!" exclaimed Orsino thoughtlessly.

Again she looked at him in silence for some moments.

"I have not known you long enough," she said. "And if I had known youlonger, perhaps it would not be different. Are other people curious,too? Do they talk about me?"

"The people I know do--but they do not know you. They see your name inthe papers, as a beautiful Spanish princess. Yet everybody is aware thatthere is no Spanish nobleman of your name. Of course they are curious.They invent stories about you, which I deny. If I knew more, it would beeasier."

"Why do you take the trouble to deny such things?"

She asked the question with a change of manner. Once more she leanedforward and her face softened wonderfully as she looked at him.

"Can you not guess?" he asked.

He was conscious of a very unusual emotion, not at all in harmony withthe imaginary character he had chosen for himself, and which hegenerally maintained with considerable success. Maria Consuelo was oneperson when she leaned back in her chair, laughing or idly listening tohis talk, or repulsing the insignificant declarations of devotion whichwere not even meant to be taken altogether in earnest. She was prettythen, attractive, graceful, feminine, a little artificial, perhaps, andOrsino felt that he was free to like her or not, as he pleased, but thathe pleased to like her for the present. She was quite another womanto-day, as she bent forward, her tawny eyes growing darker and moremysterious every moment, her auburn hair casting wonderful shadows uponher broad pale forehead, her lips not closed as usual, but slightlyparted, her fragrant breath just stirring the quiet air Orsino breathed.Her features might be irregular. It did not matter. She was beautifulfor the moment with a kind of beauty Orsino had never seen, and whichproduced a sudden and overwhelming effect upon him.

"Do you not know?" he asked again, and his voice trembled unexpectedly.

"Thank you," she said softly and she touched his hand almostcaressingly.

But when he would have taken it, she drew back instantly and was oncemore the woman whom he saw every day, careless, indifferent, pretty.

"Why do you change so quickly?" he asked in a low voice, bending towardsher. "Why do you snatch your hand away? Are you afraid of me?"